Name This Story Whatever You'd Like
by Draco's Truth
Summary: Three months after the Battle of Hogwarts, an isolated Harry comes back to the Weasleys.


"Ginny's not here."

Nonetheless, Mr. Weasley pushed him aside, and Harry shut the door behind him.

"See? She's really not here. I wouldn't lie to you about something like that."

"You promised us you would be careful," Mr. Weasley said.

"What are you talking about?"

He shoved a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ into Harry's chest. There, on the front cover, was a photograph of the alley behind a pub, showing two figures hooked into a quite deliberate embrace.

Harry knew it was too late to try to hide the panic on his face. "How did…. This isn't what it…"

"Looks like you holding someone up against a brick wall to me. Is that what it looks like to you? I dunno, maybe I'm seeing things. So, how long have you known this girl? Two, maybe three hours?"

Harry looked away. He recognized the heavy stirrings of guilt, embarrassment and anger, but didn't know in which order they would emerge, so he tried to calm all three.

"I'm sorry."

"Despite not looking like it," Mr. Weasley said, smacking the back of his hand lightly to the side of Harry's chin, articulating the underwhelming line of stubble there, "you're a grown man and I'm not here to tell you what to do. But we talked about this, Harry."

"I know."

"Fame is a funny thing. It changes people. And it can get you the wrong kind of attention. These women aren't looking at you, they just want their 15 minutes of fame. They want to be photographed next to you, have their name in the paper next to yours. Or they want something worse from you."

"I didn't go through with it."

"You have a bright future ahead of you, and this is one lousy start." He paused, only now hearing what Harry had said. "What?"

"I left," Harry said. "I just… I don't know. I thought it was what I…." He briefly narrowed his eyes at Mr. Weasley, knowing that Mr. Weasley understood the subtle communication. "It wasn't."

"All of us are getting counseling. All of us. Except you. Now I know I said I wouldn't push you into anything you weren't ready for. But asking for help doesn't make you any less of a man; it makes you more of one. You don't have to do everything by yourself, Harry. If the door is open, there's no shame in walking through it. You don't deserve to drown yourself in this."

Harry nodded.

"And on that note…."

"Hey!" Harry yelled as Mr. Weasley grabbed a near-empty bottle of Firewhiskey from the cabinet and started pouring it in the sink. Harry knew it sounded childish as soon as it came out, but there was no other word he could use at the moment. "Cut it out!"

Without warning, Mr. Weasley took off into Harry's bedroom and reached under the bedframe, finding a small shelf there occupied by another bottle of Firewhiskey.

"Harry, I want you to be free to make your own choices, but if I find this on you one more time, I'm telling Molly. This is not the way we handle problems in this family and you damn well know it."

Though thoroughly angry now, Harry nodded in concession.

"And get rid of that newspaper. Everyone will have seen it already, of course, but you can still file for a retraction. Invasion of privacy you can't do anything about, but it'll probably meet the minimum requirements for violation of obscenity laws."

"I don't need your help," Harry said. "I'm not one of your damn kids and you are not my father. You can't walk into _my_ house and just start taking _my_ stuff just because _your_ family can't handle it."

Mr. Weasley gave a sad smile and placed a warm hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'll see you at home."

The door slammed in Mr. Weasley's face.

" _Mother—_ "

This prompted Mr. Weasley to knock once more. Not surprisingly, Harry opened the door again.

"Something to get you through the night," he offered, holding out a chocolate bar. Begrudgingly, Harry took it before slamming the door again. 

The next night at dinner, Harry was somehow amazed at the warm comfort that the Burrow had always given him, and then, he wasn't surprised at all. Everyone had left the table after dinner, save for himself, Ron and Hermione.

"You all right?" Ron said awkwardly, finally addressing the tension.

Hermione put her hand over Harry's, then motioned for Ron to follow her out of the kitchen.

"Can I help with something?" Harry asked after they had gone.

"No, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, standing at the sink. "I complained all my life about dishes and laundry, and now I can't get enough of it. Keeps my mind focused."

There was an embarrassed silence. "Mrs. Weasley…."

"I saw nothing, I know nothing," she said in a higher octave than her normal voice. "But I am quite sure that you will not behave like that again."

"I'm…gonna go find Ginny," Harry said, making brief, painful eye contact with Mr. Weasley.

Now alone in the kitchen, Mr. Weasley put his hand on hers.

Out in the gardens, Ginny was kneeling by a flowerbed, absentmindedly growing lilies with her wand, then searing their lovely white edges with orange flame, letting them burn slowly to the ground.

"If only there were some sort of gesture to make your feelings for me clear."

Ginny didn't turn around, but felt his arms around her nonetheless, his mouth pressing hotly to the back of her neck.

"Leave me alone."

He moved beside her, one knee to his chest. "I'm sorry," he said. "I really am. I haven't been right in my mind since we broke up…. And then I look at Ron and Hermione…. And everyone else…. And I just thought – "

"You don't have to explain," Ginny said somberly. "I broke up with you. There's no reason you shouldn't be allowed to go out with whoever you want. Although…" she started, finally able to look up at him for the first time in over a week. "Classy."

"Shut up. Nothing happened."

Ginny paused, contemplating whether it would be a good idea to ask her next question. "Why not?"

"Because I'm not that person," Harry offered, seeming to be realizing it for himself as he said it. "We shouldn't have broken up. The whole argument was stupid, and I shouldn't have talked to you like that."

"You're right," she said. "But I was trying to help you. And you called me a bitch. In front of my entire family. Then stormed out." She hugged her knees. "And if that's the person you are now, then – "

"I'm not," he said quickly. "I was just…."

"Yes, Harry, what's the end of that sentence?"

"I don't know."

"Grieving. That would be a good one."

"Fine," he said. "I was. I am."

"Good," she said. "That's the most I've heard you talk about it since May 2nd."

"I'm sorry," he said again. "It was a mistake. All of it. I should have been here for my family." He put his hand over hers. "I wasn't."

"I've decided I'm going back to Hogwarts."

Harry looked at her. "That's next week."

"I think it'll be good for me," she said. "I'll have Hermione with me. And it'll bring me back to reality a little."

"So where does that leave us?"

It took her a long time to answer. "I love you, Harry," she said. "I've never pictured myself with anyone but you. But it's just too damn hard. And I know you agree, even though you'd never say it."

He nodded.

"This isn't about the _Prophet_ ," she said. "It's not anything you did. I'm seventeen years old. I've had boyfriends the majority of the past three years. And I have no idea how to even _begin_ to understand why my brother's not here anymore. So maybe some time apart would be good for us."

"How can time apart be what's good for us?"

"Because I need to help myself before I can help you. And I can't do that while you're around. I keep telling myself to be everybody's rock, and I end up forgetting about myself. And I know you do the same for me. That's why we're stuck. Because neither of us are doing anything to help ourselves, and we just keep blowing up at each other instead."

There was a long silence, but it was a comfortable one, absent of the tension that had been building in the house since May.

"I love you, Ginny," he said finally, and Ginny took it as support for her decision. "I can't imagine being with anyone else."

"You don't have to imagine anyone. Just look at the newspaper."

Despite the heaviness of her comment, he felt a jovial flutter in the air. "How long are you gonna throw that in my face?"

"Mmm…probably forever. Although I'm horribly embarrassed for that poor girl from the pub, having to be seen in your arms like that."

"You understand that nothing happened, right?"

"Of course. Otherwise it would be _you_ I was more embarrassed for."

"Funny," he said, though pleased with the shift in her approach.

"So we're in agreement, then?"

"Yes. I can be humble enough to admit that I would be embarrassed for me too."

"Harry."

He moved her fingers through his. "We'll survive Hogwarts. I promise. And when you graduate, and come home, I wanna marry you."

"Don't be an idiot."

"Fine," he said. "How about the year after that?"

"No."

"The one after that?"

She sighed. "Goodnight, Harry."

"That wasn't a no."

"Go home. You have to be up early for training. So that you can run into criminal situations without thinking it through. Like always."

"It's not like that."

" _Watch out all, I have arrived. And just my appearance will thwart all evil, even though I don't have a plan and just put myself in incredible danger for no reason at all._ If you're not held hostage and taken advantage of by the time I come home for Christmas, I'll be shocked. _"_

"You always know just what to say," he said sardonically.

"And just so you're aware, walking up to dangerous wizards unarmed and closing your eyes only worked that one time."

"I do that with you all the time and it seems to get me favorable results," he said, kissing her.

"Pregnant witches can't try out for Quidditch teams," Ron's voice bellowed from across the lawn, and he unabashedly situated himself between Harry and Ginny. "Isn't that right, Harry?" he asked, gripping Harry's shoulder painfully tightly.

Though forever insulted by her brother's constant trivialization of her intelligence, this time, she smiled, grateful that she was lucky enough to have gotten Ron for a brother.


End file.
